Full Circle
by Neshomeh
Summary: Pilot and Moya say goodbye to an old friend. This is the sequel to the alternate ending of my other Farscape fic, "It's the Thought that Counts." It stands alone, but will make more sense if you read ItTtC first.


Full Circle

Pilot was running a normal systems check on Moya when the Leviathan picked up the call for help. It was not a new signal; the technology used to create it was archaic at best, and it had traveled a long way through space from a point quite far from their present location. Pilot listened as a seemingly female voice, broken and staticky but intelligible, reported that the passenger cruiser that she was aboard had been hit by a large, fast-moving piece of space debris and had been severely crippled.

"The thin- tore a huge h-le in the side, very near the engines. S-s-some of the crew went to----try and patchtchtch it up about an arn or two ago, and have not -ome back or said an----ng. Some of the fuel lines were broken, there were - few -'splosions. We are losing ------ very fast. I fear that the environmental sys---- were damaged, m--bey badly. I am ---ng to see what has h-pp-ned to -----. We need help. If you are in range, ------ come. ----- breaking----------just thrown toget-------------------------won't hold--------------------------------------------please---------------------------------------------------------" 

The signal deteriorated and the transmission, which Pilot guessed had actually been sent at least an arn before Moya picked it up, ended. Something teased at the back of his mind, and Moya's too. Something neither of them could quite pin down. Pilot knew he had to go to that ship, even though it would probably be too late when they got there. He set the coordinates of the message's origin and Moya prepared for Starburst. He would deal with the crew later.

Of his original crew, only four remained. Chiana had run off some time ago to try and join up with her brother, and no one knew exactly what had eventually become of her. D'Argo had died trying to rescue his son. Of those left, only Rygel and Chrichton were still hopeful that they would find their own homeworlds. Aeryn had her reasons for staying, but otherwise had nowhere else to go. Zhaan, he wasn't sure about, but all appreciated her services.

Moya emerged from the Starburst behind and slightly to the left of the damaged cruiser. Pilot saw through her visual sensors the gash in its oblong gray hull-the wires, tubes, and twisted metal protruding from it. The fact that it did not seem to be leaking gasses was reassuring; they must have managed to seal off the section.

__

Or, his subconscious muttered, _there is nothing left to leak_. No, something far deeper told him otherwise. 

Finally the expected comm. came from John, who was on the Command Deck despite the lateness of the arn.

"Pilot! What the frell is this? What are you doing and where are we?!?" He was, as usual, overreacting. Pilot sighed and flipped on the clamshell so he could watch the Human's facial expressions. 

"May I suggest that you calm yourself Chrichton? We are responding to a call for help from that passenger ship. They were hit-"

"Yeah, no kidding! " said John, who had turned and really looked at the forward viewing screen for the first time. "Jeeze, that must've been one mother of a rock! I guess we're supposed to go check for survivors?"

"If you would, yes. They don't have much time, if any. They are running out of air." 

The Human looked as if he were going to ask more questions, but Zhaan, who had just shown up, interrupted him before he could speak.

"Well of course we will," she said. "How long has it been since they were hit, do you know, Pilot?"

"As far as I can tell, about three arns," Pilot replied. "Moya picked up the message from them about two arns after it was sent out. Here it is:" He played the recorded transmission. 

"Well, I guess we'd better get a move-on then," quipped Chrichton. Pilot frowned at him. "Aeryn," John ignored him and spoke into the comm.

"What do you want, Chrichton? Go to sleep like a normal being!" she replied irritably after a pause.

"Hey, take it easy, Sun-Shine! Zhaan and I were planning on a little late-night excursion, and we were just wondering if you wanted to join us? It'll be fun; no air to muddle the view of the stars, no engine sounds to destroy the mood; just you and me and Zhaan and the vacuum!"

"Sounds like a blast. I'll pass, thank you. Goodnight!" the comm. went dead.

"Well, that's too bad. Its no use even asking Rygel, so shall we go?"

"Yes, John, let's, and quickly." They headed to the pod bay after Zhaan had grabbed a few things from the MedBay, and left. Pilot watched them through Moya's visual sensors. They docked, after a few minor technical difficulties, close to the middle of the ship, behind the bridge and before the damaged section. The foreboding feeling deep within him intensified.

* * *

Zhaan and Chrichton stepped aboard the alien ship and were affronted with the overwhelming stench of hot, acrid metal, thin stale recycled air, and other strange smells that they assumed were associated with the beings that occupied that particular cruiser. Both reeled back and stood for a little while until they had adjusted somewhat. They looked at each other; a look that asked if the other was prepared for what they might see; and started down the short passageway.

It came to an abrupt end after several yards and branched off to the left and right. The left way seemed to lead to the sleeping quarters and eventually the bridge. The right, they thought, most likely lead to the hydroponics unit, environmental regulators, engines and other machinery.

"I'll take the left passage," said John. Zhaan nodded and both went their own way. 

After walking a few feet the Delvian encountered a door, which she had to force open. Her sense of smell was immediately affronted by the stench of charred fabric, plastic, flesh; and the acrid metallic smell intensified. She backed up a few steps before forcing herself to enter and deal with whatever she might find.

What had once been a large oval-shaped rec. hall was in ruins. The previously blue-white walls were scorched and blackened. What passed as tables, chairs, and lounges were overturned and also burned. Some still held the remains of their occupants. The far wall from where Zhaan stood, aghast, looked as if it had blown out, but was repaired. The door on that side of the room seemed securely locked. Zhaan set about the grim duty of checking for survivors.

Meanwhile, Chrichton had checked each room on his way to the bridge, but they had all been empty. The condition of the bridge itself was actually not as bad as the rest of the wreck. There was a considerably larger, warmer, and overall better air supply there, and also survivors. He confronted the small group of faun-like creatures and asked them what had happened and how they had managed to survive and if there were any others. They mostly shook their horned heads and wrung their eight-fingered hands. They were understandably traumatized and in quite a bit of shock at the sight of the Human.

One female child, however, stood up and pointed back the way he, John, had come.

"Tlawri," she said, which was translated as 'back there'. 

"Leerma." 'Engines'. 

"Back in the engines?" John asked, pointing. The little one nodded.

"Thanks," said Chrichton. He mussed her curly, pale hair and went after Zhaan. 

He met her in the passageway, as she had had no luck and was coming to find him. She told him so and asked if he had.

"There are some live ones up there," he said. "One of 'em said there were others back in the engine area."

"It's all sealed up," Zhaan told him. "There is a door, but I don't know if it would be safe to open it. We don't know if there's air back there."

"Well, let's hope there is," he grinned a lopsided grin. "You take care of them," he cocked his thumb at the bridge door, "and I'll worry about whoever was dumb enough to lock themselves in with the friendly hole!"

They parted again, John muttering something he remembered about wardrobes and holes from a book. He blanched at the sight of the pale blue room, but continued right up to the door and started to work on figuring out how to go about opening it. It wasn't really all that complicated, but the whole thing was warped and twisted from the heat of the explosion. After a few annoying minutes of pulling, hitting, and cursing, he finally got it.

After unlocking it, he carefully opened it a crack. Nothing happened except that his face was blasted with exceedingly cold, thin air. He braced himself, and opened it all the way. He was a bit surprised not to see icicles hanging from every available surface and snow covering the floor.

"HELLOOOOO-OOOO!" he yelled experimentally. His voice echoed in a way that made his skin crawl. Or was he just cold? Whatever. He looked around and saw many catwalks running about the place around large, dead machinery. Much of it was more contorted and malformed than the wall of the oval room. All was black and dark. Eerie, very eerie.

Chrichton stepped onto the walkway. His boots made a hollow clanging sound, which also echoed forbiddingly. Looking around again, he saw that there was a great deal of empty space around him: above, to the sides, and most frighteningly below. 

"Hello?" he called again. "Make a noise if you can hear me!" He waited for the echoes to stop. For what seemed like arns there was nothing, but then he heard a small scratching. It sounded as if it came from underneath him somewhere. Great. Perfect. Just _peachy._

"Hey, alright; keep it up! C'mon, more noise!" He cast his gaze around for a ladder, or something. He spotted one and headed toward it, keeping one hand on the catwalk rail at all times. Whoever it was kept scratching, and John descended and headed toward the sound.

He almost stepped on the creature before he saw it. The light was bad and he couldn't see well, but he could tell that the creature was injured and almost frozen. It was lying across the walk, scratching the floor with a sharp piece of shrapnel. 

"Alright; hey, I'm here," he said as comfortingly as possible. He knelt down to pick it up; did so and carried it to the ladder. 

"Can you hang on to me if I put you on my back?" Long icy fingers gripped his arm in an affirmative. The human maneuvered it into the proper position, and it clung to him in-the term sprang unbidden to his mind-a death-hold. 

A hold on _life,_ he told himself. Why did he care? Hm… best figure that one out later. He commed Zhaan and asked her to meet him at the top of the ladder, then began the climb back to light and heat. 

As the Delvian pulled the person off Chrichton's back, she sensed something about the individual. Something unsettlingly familiar… 

They carried it into the light blue oval-shaped room and laid it down on the floor. Zhaan knelt to begin her ministrations, met the green-eyed gaze of the woman; for woman she was; and was taken aback by the realization…

"Oh, my Goddess…"

* * *

Moya traveled slowly to the planet Mirrat, which was where the faun-like people had said they were going to. Zhaan made her rounds, checking to see that they were all okay. Chrichton paced the Command Deck, making Rygel nervous and annoying Aeryn. Pilot huddled in his den, cradling in his four arms the listless Jen'ra.

As soon as she had found what remained of her voice she had asked, pleaded, begged to be brought to him. She let Zhaan do what she could for her, but both knew. Internal organs had been torn up in the explosion, and the only reason that she had lasted as long as she had was the numbing cold of space.

"Are-you absolutely certain?" he had asked. His voice was a choked whisper. "I never thought to see you again, and now you're here, only to leave me, alone?"

She laughed a little.

"I told you we'd see each other again, didn't I? Yes, I'm quite certain. But my dear, you know you're not alone. The others; they do care, they just never learned how to show it. And Moya. Always." She forced another breath. Pilot couldn't stand what was happening. And he was helpless to stop it!

"Are-are you sure I can't do anything to help?"

"Yes, very sure." A short silence. "No; there is something you can do for me. On Mirrat… have them find T'Rawlin. He's impossible to miss… not a native. Tell him. And Lynn… my Ryi-Lynn. She's ten and beautiful. She's got her father's hair, my eyes, and your temperament. And she inherited her 'talent' from both of us. T'Rawlin and me. Ar'rob… farewell. Perhaps… perhaps we will meet again in another… another life." She flashed a small smile; her last.

"Farewell…" breathed Pilot. Jen'ra summoned the last of her energy to look up at him one last time, and 'pathed to him the feeling of total peace and contentment that she felt. One less thing for him to worry about.

The tension left her body. The air left her lungs. Pilot closed his eyes and wept as he hadn't for a very long time. Moya grieved with him. Twenty cycles before, the woman had done her bondmate a great service.

****

Epilogue

T'Rawlin entered the den cautiously and held tight the hand of his daughter. Ryi-Lynn gazed around with the avid curiosity of her age group. The death of Jen'ra had badly shaken the both of them. They had come because T'Rawlin felt that all could use the support, and because he thought that Jen'ra would have liked them all to meet each other anyway. The lighting in the den turned their silver hair purple and blue.

"Are you Pilot?" Ryi-Lynn asked, unexpectedly focusing on the symbiont.

"Yes. You must be Ryi-Lynn, and you T'Rawlin. Jen'ra was a great friend to me. You are both very lucky."

"As are you," T'Rawlin replied. "She thought much of you. We've heard a lot about you."

Ryi-Lynn pulled her hand free of her father's and walked toward the console. She looked up, and green eyes met amber.

~Hello, Pilot.~ 


End file.
